


Hangovers and Hay

by Tyranidlord



Series: Sos do dov [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Hangover, Same main character as my other works, Scars, Sofia (Mod Follower) - Freeform, The Hero of Kvatch|Champion of Cyrodiil is the Dragonborn, Vampires, mod content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 15:18:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13592835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyranidlord/pseuds/Tyranidlord
Summary: After another night out drinking, Sofia finds herself woken by a scarred stranger appearing down on his luck.





	Hangovers and Hay

**Author's Note:**

> A short oneshot that I slapped together introducing Kaius from Bloodtide Rising meeting Sofia (https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/54527/) 
> 
> I hope I did her justice...

Something solid and unyielding impacted against her hip, jolting her awake despite the mead’s stubborn refusal to release its hold on her mind. For a moment she struggled to even make sense of where or who she even was, but as the fog of the alcoholic binge of the evening before made itself felt things slowly began slotting into place in her mind.

 Smelling of alcohol and horse, Sofia lifted her head from under the horse blanket and immediately wished she hadn’t. While limited by the way the stable doors were opened only by a crack, the dawn light seeping through still felt like daggers into her eyes. Squinting painfully, she looked about with her head rather than moving her eyes at where she had slept the night.

 “What? Where am I?”

 The stale taste of mead that clung to the inside of her mouth like tundra cotton and the throbbing of a headache burrowing into her mind like an iron-tipped worm. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to tell her that the evening had been extremely productive. Half caught conversations and memories floated about like mist in her mind that utterly refused to condense into anything remotely useful and the mere act of whispering was enough to release the full force of the hangover. For several seconds all she could do was groan, clutching at her skull and slowly sitting upright despite the fact that it just seemed to make the pain worse.

 The smell of hay and horse piss immediately told her more than what her rebellious eyes could in their current state. She was in the stables, one of the rarely utilised stalls within the failing business outside the walls of Whiterun. While not as comfy as awakening with a room in the Bannered Mare, it was still better than waking up in the gutter.

 A figure stood over her, silhouetted in the beams of light playing into the stable, framed by the pale glow and the dancing dust motes and straw dust that floated in the air. A travelling bag, moth-eaten and heavily worn rolled off with a small waterfall of hay and straw. Judging by the sounds and its weight, the bag was filled with various metallic items. Either not knowing or caring that she was under the blanket, the figure had dropped his bag right on top of her, and now stood staring at the dishevelled individual slowly pulling herself out to a new day.

 “Oh, it’s you!”

 There was a stiffening of muscles, a slight involuntarily grimaces from the figure. “Excuse me?”

 Sofia started at the voice, trying to look through the stabbing beams of light. The voice was harsh and clipped, but was not the thick guttural tones of a Nord. There was something familiar in the way the man stood, back straight and shoulders tensed but the more she managed to see the more she realised that the man standing before her was a stranger.

 “Uh… I mean what?”

 Silently, the individual moved away from the door, reaching down and picking up his bag from where he had dropped it. “Have we met?”

 There was a pause and Sofia looked him over. He looked similar to so many that travelled the wilds of Skyrim, the various travellers and adventurers that roamed from city to city. Worn leather and threadbare cloth clung to his frame, and over the top of his clothes he had managed to shrug on a tattered and frayed set of iron armour that had seen better years. Thick stubble clung to his jaw; a goatee forming around a mouth that was unaccustomed to smiling. Waiting for an answer, he gazed at her with eyes glinting in the semi-darkness of the stall.

 “No,” she said truthfully. For a moment she though it could have been Amauoc; but they had parted ways in Rorikstead months ago. Whoever this man was he was no Breton that was for certain. “I’ve never seen you before.”

 The stare continued, and for a moment she felt as though she was faced by an ice wolf than a human by its intensity. “So you don’t know who I am?”

 It was more of a statement rather than a question and strangely enough he appeared to relax slightly, the tenseness of his muscles loosening almost imperceptibly.

 “I have no idea who you are.” At her words the man seemed to grin slightly, the corners of his mouth tugging up at the goatee and threatening the hold of the scowl on his face. “It’s not like I’ve been stalking you or anything.”

 “Well, I suppose that’s a good thing.”

 Carefully he slung his bag over a shoulder, tugging at the frayed cloak that clung to his shoulders. Despite the fact that it was summer and that the temperature was comparatively warm in Whiterun Hold he was quite rugged up. A small collection of items was scattered about a pressed down portion of hay; a waterskin, whetstone, dagger and some food of various dubiousness wrapped in muslin. Like her, he had chosen to spend the night in the stables. However instead of being a result of poorly made decisions brought on by intoxication, he had simply been too poor or too tired to seek lodgings.

 Scooping up his meagre possessions he dropped them into his pack and the pouch hanging from right hip. About the only item in his possession that was worth more than scrap was the lengthy bastard sword that rattled in its scabbard. He would have been lucky to have gotten a handful of silver septims for his equipment, but the sword was easily worth twenty, maybe even thirty gold septims. It had been well cared for and clung to his side as though it was part of him but the unmistakable signs of scorch marks up the leather scabbard seemed strangely unnerving.

 “I have to go now.” He said simply, sparing her a glance and turning for the door.

 “Wait!” she spluttered, rising a little further and wincing as the headache continued its relentless advance into her brain. “Don’t leave!”

 Close to opening the stall’s door, he paused and looked back.

 For a moment she panicked, looking about and eyes darting about. The fact that the horse blanket almost exclusively laid on bare flesh was no longer lost to her hungover mind. “I’m…. Injured…” she said simply, making a show of pressing her hand to her side where he couldn’t see.

 An eyebrow raised, and he stepped closer. Again, the deep brown irises stared into hers. “Injured?”

 She shrunk from the gaze. There was something unnerving about the way that he stared. It reminded her all too much of the looks she had seen veterans of the War have when they were deep in their cups and their minds travelling the long road of memories.

 “Uh… Yes… Injured…” ignoring the way that the eyes roamed over the way that she was still mostly covered by the blanket, she gave a smile that she hoped was partly alluring and partly that of someone in pain. The way that her head was throbbing, it wasn’t too much of a sham. “You have to take me with you otherwise I might die, and you wouldn’t want that on your conscience.”

 “You look alright to me.”

 “Yea, well that’s because…” sighing she rolled her eyes and met his gaze. “Ok fine, if you take me with you I will make it worth your while. You won’t find anyone tougher than me in Skyrim.”

 Batting her eyes at him she leant back in what she knew was one of her most alluring poses. “Not to mention as good looking.”

 The chill that entered the stable had nothing to do with the morning breeze, and everything with the way the gaze hardened. She was unsure of why her instincts were screaming at her for several heartbeats until she realised that unlike most men she encountered, there was nothing there in those cold brown eyes. Most men, particularly Nords were ridiculously easy to wrap around her little finger. A bat of an eye while biting a lip, swaying the hips a little while walking and her all-time favourite of showing a bit of cleavage all worked wonders. With barely any effort she would, and did repeatedly find herself well along the way to money and all the free booze she could drink.

 With the stranger though, there was nothing. None of the usual arousal or interest, just a carful glance that started at her eyes, worked its way down to where most of her body was hidden under the blanket before returning. It was cold and calculating and she couldn’t help but think that he had not been looking at her body, but rather her soul.

 “I suppose I could use some backup.” He said after looking her over, and she stared at him, astonished at not only the words but the tone of his voice.

 “Is that it?” Hands almost flapping of their own accord, she gestured to the half-shadow of the man standing a few metres from her. “Aren’t you going to flex your muscles and tell me how great you are? That seems to be the customary greeting in Skyrim.”

 Flicking the ragged ponytail back over her shoulders she shook some of the hay that had managed to get tangled in its mass. “Anyway there’s no _suppose_ about it. Everyone could use someone a little more like me.”

 He snorted, for a moment appearing as though he was laughing at a private joke that only he understood. “Where do you want me to take you?”

 Sofia shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll just go wherever you are going. I will repay your kindness by fighting alongside you. Surely that’s an offer you can’t refuse?”

 Calloused and as unyielding as a bear trap, his hand gripped hers as he helped her rise from where she had slept the night. For a moment she felt as though High Hrothgar had reached down and pulled her to her feet, gripping him by the hand and a forearm that felt as solid as granite.

 Swaying, and feeling every bit as hungover as she was she grasped her head in both hands, groaning and trying to stop the throbbing in her skull. No longer supported, the blanket fell away, leaving her flesh to cover itself in a rolling wave of goosepimples as the breeze from outside washed over it.

 “What happened to your clothes?”

 “What?!” she looked down, seeing and feeling the fact that other than the wrapped up blanket that she had been wearing little else. Only the tiny strip of fabric that barely qualified as underwear covered what little modesty she possessed. After a moment of panic, she thankfully could see the solid form of her own sword jutting out from where it had lain by her side. No matter how drunk she got, and how much of her possessions she lost or gambled away, she never left herself unarmed.

 “Ugh. I have no idea. My memory is a little fuzzy.” He had stepped back to give the almost-naked woman in front of him some space but they were still quite close in the stable. Looking around where she had slept she could see that almost none of what she considered to be her possessions were to be seen. “If you happen to have any, I would appreciate it.”

 It was his turn to sigh, looking her over again with that same dispassionate expression and putting his travelling bag down on the ground. A pair of sandals in the typical legion style were dropped into the hay, followed by the frayed and worn cloak from his shoulders. She quickly bent down and started putting on the footwear, suddenly thankful the way the Legion equipment came in only two sizes; too big, and too small.

 Seeing his expression, she grinned and tossed her head back. “Oh, and stop staring at my body.” she said teasingly with sarcasm dripping from every word. “It’s like you’ve never seen a semi-naked woman before.”

 For the most part he ignored her. He had been staring but it was not the lecherous stare that Sofia was accustomed to. Walking naked down the street didn’t bother her, it had been something she had done on numerous occasions and she knew how to look after herself. But there was something in the way that he looked at her that was unnerving. Men wanting and lusting after her was one thing, but the sensation that he could actually see through her to who she really was terrifying.

 The battered breastplate thudded onto the floor as he loosened its straps, reaching behind and pulling off the back piece with it. “So why were you out here on your own?”

 Sofia looked over the crumpled cloak as she picked it up and tried to work out which way was the top. The Imperial Dragon was heavily faded but with a start she realised that it wasn’t because it was old. The heraldry was faded because the cloak had been singed in fire that left it smelling of ash and smoke. The vibrant red hues of the cloth were now nothing more than a maroon-black thread and instead of reaching the middle of her calves it barely covered her thighs. It had somehow been considerably burned, the bottom section frayed and tattered and rapidly falling apart, but was still large enough to cover most of her body.

 “Am I not allowed out on my own now?” Finding the top of the cloak she stared suspiciously at the mostly-fresh bone that he had used to clasp it around the throat. It looked like a sharpened needle of a bone taken from a rabbit or other small animal. “I had a little too much to drink. So what? I guess I must have passed out.”

 Dropping the sheathed sword, he loosened his belt to pull the pouch and the last of the armour strappings that had kept the breast and back plates locked tightly to his torso. Obviously without even a spare change of clothes he had little more than the rusted armour to protect him from bandits, the creatures of Skyrim and its harsh climate.

 “I hope I didn’t cause too much trouble.” Sofia continued, trying to work out the best way to wear the cloak so that she could walk into Whiterun without being reacquainted with the interior of Dragonreach’s dungeon. “Actually I’m not really that bothered.”

 He took his shirt off as well, pulling the rough tunic over his head and suddenly appearing as bare chested as what she was. Despite how he held the shirt out to her she was stuck in place, staring at him in a similar way that he had been of her only moments before.

 Aging veterans of the war between the aldmeri Dominion could be found on every street corner in the holds, and most bore wounds of various severity. Even those few who returned from the clashes between the Stormcloaks and the Empire were filtering their way through Skyrim, but Sofia had never seen scars like this. There was barely an inch of skin that hadn’t been ravaged by conflict, and every move he made bunched and twisted at the maze of damaged tissue. Burns overlapped gashes, and the kiss of blades sliced through the burns. There was no mistaking the fact that whoever he was, he was by far one of the strongest and fittest individuals she had ever laid eyes on. He was however, the most heavily injured by a huge margin.

 Catching the expression and seeing the way that her jaw had dropped, he held out the shirt for her. “Are you alright?”

 Shaking herself back into the real world she tore her eyes away from the livid burn that started somewhere on his thigh beneath the woollen pants and wrapped up and around to his abs. It looked as though someone had covered a portion of his side in cooking oil before setting it ablaze.

 “Of course I’m alright.” She snapped, trying and almost succeeding in looking him in the eyes. “Don’t start fussing over me, I’m more than capable of handling myself.”

 The snort of amusement wasn’t one born of disbelief, but was at least some sign of humour. “So if you are so tough and independent then why do you need my help?”

 Pulling on the shirt that smelled of sweat and ash, she shook her hair free and watched as he leant down to pick up his armour. There were blade cuts in his flesh that ran _deep_. One looked like it would have scoured the ribs under the puckered tissue, but they all held nothing on the jagged claw marks across his chest. Something of enormous size had mauled him with a swipe from his left shoulder, across both pectorals and the stomach. Only pure luck would have left him to walk away from being hit by something much, _much_ larger than even the largest of sabrecats.

 “I don’t.” Sofia paused again as she realised that he had very few wounds on his back. Unlike the rest of him, his back was almost unmarred by injuries which showed that whoever he was he wasn’t someone who believed in running away. “I thought I would help you out.”

 Pulling the leather straps tight despite the protests of their rusted buckles, he seemed genuinely curious. With his right fist he rapped his knuckles into his chest, testing the way the plate and underlying strips of leather clung to his bare flesh. “I didn’t ask for any help though?”

 Suddenly more nervous than before when he had been staring at her, Sofia fidgeted, chewing on a lip and trying to look everywhere but at him. The sheer scope of the injuries he had sustained in his life were sickeningly fascinating. “Well I was hoping you would kind of keep me company.”

 Another strap was pulled taut but he was listening. Intently so.

 “Look, I know it sounds weird but it’s no fun on my own.”

 He grunted something that sounded very close to agreement and rolled his shoulders, getting a feel for the way the armour sat without any underlying clothing.

 “You can tell me to leave if you want, but surely you can at least give me a chance?”

 The pause as he obviously thought about the situation further seemed to last a lot longer to Sofia than what it really was.

 “I can’t see the harm in it.”

 Grinning, she wrapped the singed cloak around her shoulders and fastened it with the bone needle. Despite the fact she had no pants, the shirt that he had provided her hung down to mid-thigh and billowed around her. He mightn’t have been as large as some of the Nord’s but strength and confidence seemed to ooze out of him like a sweat. It was almost as though he knew that if the injuries he had received hadn’t killed him, then nothing could.

 The stable door creaked as he pushed through it, glancing about to see whether any of the stable hands would see either of them and demand payment for the roof over their heads. It was quiet, for the moment at least. The early morning sun was still rising and left the air chilly but all but the earliest of risers in their homes and warm beds.

 Ignoring the shiver that coursed up from her bare legs, Sofia looked at her new companion as they stumbled onto the cobblestoned road weaving through the ruined outer defences of Whiterun. “I haven’t introduced myself have I?”

 There was a chuckle and again the brown irises looked into hers. “No. you haven’t.”

 “My name is Sofia,” quickly she moved up to walk alongside him. Between the hobnailed sandals on her feet and the pair of study leather boots he wore their steps echoed from the surrounding walls. “but you probably already knew that.”

 Even despite the hour a collection of travellers and merchants were camped in the S bend that lead into the city. Guards were scattered about, looking and watching everyone with a bored resignation and ensuring that they weren’t letting in smugglers or untaxed goods into Whiterun. Most were going through their duties with little care and even less attention, and despite their unusual appearances both Sofia and the stranger stepped through the gatehouse with barely a glance.

 Inside the sounds of a city awakening to a new day reached their ears. As the thousands that called Whiterun home began to go about their daily lives the streets would slowly fill, not only with noise and crowds but with the smells of cooking fires and food. Sofia’s stomach still contained the last dregs of the night before, and it made its empty displeasure known. “I’m quite well known in Skyrim, although sometimes I’m not sure it’s for the right reasons.”

 Stepping through the press of travellers, beggars, merchants and various city folk they moved through the press. White was comparatively small compared to Solitude and Winterhold, but the ongoing civil war was ensuring that the streets were filling with those wishing to remain neutral. With the sun rising those lucky enough to have found a place within the city rose to greet the new day, beginning their routines and entering the streets. As they made their way along the main street towards the market square Sofia couldn’t help but notice the way her new companion moved. He seemed to somehow ignore all around him while simultaneously watching and listening to everything going on about him. Above all else he was _quiet_ , content on listening not only to the dozens of people walking about but also to Sofia as she continued talking in an attempt to remove the eerie feeling she was getting from him.

 “I kind of see myself as an adventurer although it’s no fun without anyone to witness my heroic deeds such as…” The headache was building proportionally with the increasing number of people on the streets, and she struggled to think of anything but the pain. “Well I’m sure there’s probably something. I like to get drunk, kill stuff and be a nuisance. So what about you?”

 Striding down the street with all the surety of an avalanche, it appeared for a moment that he hadn’t heard her. He stopped in mid step, turning and smiling at her. It was a legitimate smile that was welcoming despite how it felt as cold as a breeze of the Sea of Ghosts. “I’m Kaius. I guess that you can call me an adventurer or a sellsword. Although most of the time I’m more of a daytaler.”

 “Nice to meet you.” Sofia returned Kaius’ smile honestly. “I hope to be of some use to you. I am rather talented if I say so myself so I’m sure there must be something I can do for you.”

 “Well. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” Kaius replied, looking about and grimly smiling as he looked in the direction of the Bannered Mare on the other side of the Market square. Already dozens of vendors were preparing their wares for sale, even though they wouldn’t make their first sale for an hour or more. “In the meantime I guess we better get some work.”

 With an arm scarred from dozens of nicks and gashes from blades he gestured to her. “Before you’ll be of any use you’ll need more in the way of clothes.” He frowned at the way she tilted herself and held a hand to accentuate the sway of her hip. “Especially armour.”

 “I definitely don’t want anything to hurt my pretty face.” She laughed, but felt a chill again as he looked about the city. For the first time in almost as long as she could remember she felt confident in her short term future at least, but there was something niggling away in the back of her mind. Some deep seated fear that she could not shake.

 Shrugging it away, she followed Kaius towards the tavern and watched him move in the direction of the bounty board where several dozen proclamations, letters and job sheets were tacked and nailed. Any man who was willing to literally donate the shirt off his back to a stranger presented an unmissable opportunity. One that Sofia was not going to miss.


End file.
